Healing Wounds
by romionealways1
Summary: Lavender's face is completely ravaged after the Battle of Hogwarts. Twenty years on, she's living alone, a quiet, unhappy life, when upon chance she and Seamus meet again, and begin a friendship, which spirals into a romance. But will their love last, or will events yet to come end their brief, loving relationship?
1. The Meet

Seamus sat down on his barstool – the red one, with the seat slightly indented from years of wear. It was all in all perhaps not so reassuring that the seat always juttered a bit when he sat down on it, but it didn't bother him too much.

"The usual?" The barmaid called down to him. He nodded his head slightly and gathered his papers out in front of him, reading through each case quickly yet carefully.

_November 9__th__. Three females caught and detained for bewitching a muggle's car so it veered off the road into a pond. The muggle was arrested for "drink driving"._

_November 11__th__: One male and one female caught and detained for bewitching a muggle's suitcase to open up and spew out contents in an "airport". Not dealt with quick enough, caused disturbance. _

_November 11__th__: One male caught and detained in Azkaban for neo-death eater-ism. Used the killing curse on two muggles. Trialled and imprisoned for life._

Seamus sighed, running his hands through his shock of sandy hair. In the last two months there had been a big influx of crimes – mostly minor, where the offenders were imprisoned for a night, warned and fined, but the odd spattering of neo-death eater-ism. They were few and far, maybe a couple once a year officially, but Seamus suspected other deaths, suicides and acts of violence were of the death eater kind. He was not the only one, but no-one wanted to relive the dark times of the first and second wizarding wars. So, like others, they ignored it and pretended it was down to natural causes or "radicals".

"Excuse me." A high, girlish voiced cooed from behind him, "are you Seamus Finnigan?" He swung his barstool around, and it took all his strength not to let his eyes stare at the ravage scar that decorated this woman's face. It entwined the right side of her face, from her forehead down to just above her neck. It was ugly, and savage.

"Er…yes." He smiled. Her smile faded.

"You don't remember me."

"I...I confess not." He admitted. "I'm sorry." How could he forget such a distinctive face? She smiled wanly.

"If it helps, we went to the Yule Ball together, in our fourth year." She took the barstool next to his. It was one of the newer ones, squeaky when you sat on it. He tried to recall his date, but all he could remember was that the girl was pretty and wore a blue dress, shimmery. She gave a short laugh. "Lavender Brown."

"Oh! Yes! Lavender!" Flashes of her face came flooding back; an attractive girl, with long, curly dishwater blonde hair and a good figure. They'd kissed…and, well, more in his dormitory after the ball. They'd locked the door and no-one had ever known they'd even been there. Then he recalled post-war. She, like many others, had been transported to St. Mungo's. He'd forgotten about her shortly after; he'd had other things to worry about. His mother. His sisters. Sophie.

"I haven't seen you for so many years." She speculated, raising her hand to the barmaid and gesturing that she'd like the same as Seamus. "So, well, it's good to see you again!" The barmaid slid the drink down to her and she took a large gulp. He nodded. Awkward silence ensued for a few moments as they sat unaware of what to say.

"So…er, what are you doing now?" He asked, sliding his papers into his briefcase. Ignoring his question, she asked another.

"What are the papers for? Top secret?" She smiled.

"Oh, er, just government issues. Crime. That sort of thing." He swung his drink between his hands.

"Ah, so you are a civil servant." She joked. "A good man in a top hat and suit. I'd never have imagined that, I would have thought you'd be doing your fire antics!"

"Money was tight."

"Oh." Silence commandeered another minute as they struggled for words.

"I own Madame Malkins now." She picked her nails. "Except it's not really Madame Malkins anymore, it's Lavender's Locks. I cut hair. Sometimes I get familiar faces. Mostly not."

"You always wanted something to do with hair or fashion, didn't you? Livin' the dream?" He turned towards her properly now. Her scars were on full show, but he could now see they were actually bite marks, up and down her pale skin, some a deep scarlet, others dull red. Her skin had been sliced, repeatedly, over and over again.

"Oh yes, I did…my pretty little head obviously didn't realise how hard business could be though." She gave a tinkling laugh and sipped at her drink.

"Money struggles?" He asked, delicately.

"Oh, not really." She replied vaguely, "it's just these." She pointed towards her wounds. "They don't exactly attract customers. Some children are even frightened of me." She swirled her finger round the remains of the liquid in her glass.

"They don't bother me." It was only a slight white lie. This time she pelted out a full blown roar of a laugh, till tears came to her eyes.

"Nice lie." She grinned. He chuckled, slightly unsure what to say. "It's okay, honestly. After leaving St Mungo's I knew I'd be scarred for life. It's just hard sometimes, even twenty years on." She looked down suddenly, as if ashamed or sad… Seamus couldn't tell. He patted her awkwardly on the back and put his arm round her.

"It's okay." He said softly. "Everyone has scars from that battle, whether they're physical or emotional. Everyone remembers." She looked up, the corners of her lips pricking up a little.

"I know. But the physical ones seem harder to deal with. At least you can hide the mental ones. Pretend you're okay. With this down the side of my face, I'm a constant reminder of what happened." He hesitated for a moment, then gently squeezed her hand.

"Everyone hurts, Lavender. Just some more than others."


	2. Burnt Out Dreams

They became sort-of-friends after their encounter. Slightly out of guilt, and pity, Seamus took to agreeing to meet up with her once a week, Tuesday evenings, at the pub. After a few months, he found himself beginning to actually look forward to these get-togethers… the first time he had really looked forward to _anything_, since, well… it.

"Okay, okay," Lavender giggled, but attempted a straight face. "That bloke over there-" She waved her bejewelled fingers in the vague direction of a plump, long-faced man who had just spilt firewhiskey all down his trousers "-looks like Neville Longbottom." Seamus laughed.

"That's a seven." He said. "He could be blonder." Their eyes scoured the room.

"Her!" She whispered. "A perfect Pansy Parkinson." The woman whom she was nodding towards was sipping a butterbeer, eyeing those around her with suspicion. She was sitting opposite a rather large man who appeared to be repeatedly touching her leg. The woman didn't look too happy.

"Lavender Brown, you are a cruel woman!" He nudged her, trying to hold in further outbursts of laughter.

"I try." She said dryly.

"Fine," He sniggered. "You win."

"I wasn't aware we had stopped playing." She said in mock-anger, playfully punching him.

"I can't think of anymore." He admitted, slurping his firewhiskey.

"That's because you're weak." She stated, flicking dusty peanuts off the bar.

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Not!"

"Are too!" They collapsed, giggling. "We're too old for this." She smiled.

"Hey, how's a couple of people in their late thirties drinking immature?" He joked.

"Oh God," she laughed, "You make me sound like an alcoholic spinster!"

"That's because you are." He grinned. She gasped and whacked him.

"Mean!"

"Truth!" He sighed and looked down at his drink. "How did it get like this though, eh?" His voice was suddenly solemn, and Lavender felt suddenly as Seamus had been drinking perhaps too much. "I-I'm divorced…thirty-eight…drinking at a bar…should be with my family."

"You're divorced?" Lavender said, surprised.

"Yeah." He smiled ruefully. "Sophie. Got married when I was twenty-three and she had just turned twenty-one. We married young, I know." He waved his hand away at Lavender's slightly raised eyebrows. "Had to, though. She was pregnant." He paused for a moment. "I didn't exactly love her when we wed, but I grew to love her. Lots." He tipped some more firewhiskey down his throat. Lavender began to wonder if this was a habit of his at home too.

"You have a child?" She hadn't considered him to be a family man, not really, especially with the time he spent at work.

"Had." He said shortly. A few seconds passed. "Had." He said softer. Before Lavender could decide whether to press him for details or not, he continued forth. "Poppy. Poppy Eloise Finnigan. Stillborn." He was shaking slightly, his fingers circling the ring of his bottle. Slowly, she removed the bottle from his clasp.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault." He shrugged. He put some galleons on the counter and left the pub.

LAVENDER POV

What could I say to that? He's been married, had a child, grieved and divorced, and he's only thirty-eight. I'm bordering thirty-nine, and the last time I even kissed someone was back in seventh year, with Ernie Macmillan, and that "relationship" pretty much ended the day it begun. It's quite pathetic really… an almost middle aged woman who's still a… virgin.

In a way, I'm jealous of Seamus. He's had love, and he's obviously had sex. What have I had? A disfiguring scar that practically makes the male population yelp when they see my face. And no number of incantations or spells or potions can hide the marks. Nope, dark magic is a hard thing to be rid of apparently. I suppose I must be thankful he wasn't completely transitioned into wolf form either when he bit me – he was almost a full werewolf, but not quite. I was lucky in that sense. I just have to be careful around the full moon and avoid people around that time as I feel quite odd and unlike myself… more dissociative. The one good thing about being bitten by a half man-half werewolf is that it does improve my eyesight and co-ordination greatly. Seeing in the dark is never an issue, and I'll never need glasses. But still, I'd do anything to get back my old looks. I wasn't the prettiest, not like the Patil twins or Angelina Johnson, but I was still good looking. People liked me. Now I'm barely in touch with anyone I was even marginally friends with at Hogwarts – I guess you could say I'm too afraid to show my face, literally.

Some of them are in the newspapers now. Ginny Potter edits the daily prophet. Harry's practically featured in every issue and there's a statue of the "golden trio" in the ministry of magic. When Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had their first child it was on the front page – "Defeaters of You-Know-Who have their first child! Will she have the courage of her two famous parents?" Even Parvati Patil is a vaguely well-known auror. I appear to have faded away into nothing compared to all of them.

SEAMUS POV

I do not have the bloody faintest idea why I sprung that on her. "Wah wah wah, I'm divorced….oh, and I used to have a child, by the way, she's dead." Not that I don't love Poppy to pieces. I miss her every day. Every waking hour of my stupid existence. But I just wish I hadn't sprung it on Lavender. I mean, it's Lavender Brown for chrissakes, why did I feel the need to explode my feelings out onto her? She looked so awkward and not knowing what to say, and I don't blame her.

I've never really talked to anyone about Poppy. Me mam and sisters all cooed over me after, and me da' just didn't know what to say. Neither did I, so I said nothing. Afterwards, me and Sophie didn't speak for a long time. We did the occasional words, like 'goodbye' and 'I have work', but after Poppy, we stopped wanting to be around each other. Whenever I looked at her I saw Poppy's nose and ears. Whenever she looked at me I'm pretty sure she saw Poppy's eyes. Months later, she finally snapped at me.

_"I'm leaving, Seamus." Sophie cried out, suddenly. I looked up from my work papers._

_"What?"_

_"You heard me." I stared at her. In a way, I desperately wanted her to go. I wanted to stop seeing Poppy every time I looked at her. In an unfair way, I also blamed her. I knew it was completely flawed to even consider that, but it was there, and she knew it too. "I need to go." She said in a low voice. "I can't take… THIS anymore."_

_"What's 'this'?" I said slowly._

_"This!" She shrieked, waving her arms around the living room. "The silence! The looks you give me! The-the way" she started sobbing. "The way this should be Poppy's home too, not just ours. Although it doesn't much feel like a home anymore. We don't talk. We-we haven't so much as held hands in months, let alone have sex. We barely sleep in the same bed anymore. You just sit down here with your papers and when I get up in the morning, you've already left for work or you're lying next to empty bottles!" I absorb all of this in. I know it's been like this, but I've tried to ignore it, convince myself it'll all work out; we'll have more children, stronger children…_

_"Sophie, I-" I struggle for words. "We'll fix this, I-I'll stop spending as much time at work, I'll cut down on the drinking, I'll-"_

_"Empty promises!" She shouted, still crying. "Fucking empty promises, Seamus! The day you married me you said 'For better, for worse'. Well, this is the worst it's been and I can't take it! You should have been here when I needed you." She was now pleading. "You should have helped me. We could have helped each other. I needed you so goddamn much, Seamus." She collapsed onto the floor, a small, sobbing heap. I got up off my chair, leant down and hugged her, just hugged her, as she cried and cried and cried. Stroking her dark hair, I began to cry too._

_"I'm sorry." I whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sophie. Just please. Please stay. Please don't go. I love you." She looked up at me, her eyes red and swollen, her face blotchy from the crying._

_"I love you too, Shay." She hiccupped. "But I can't stay… I just can't." She gathered herself off the floor, and using her wand, brought her trunks to the door. _

_"Sophie, please!" Tears are thundering down my cheeks. I must look pathetic. She just looked at me. I cradled her face in my hands, leaning my forehead against hers. She sagged a little and leant into me. After what seemed like only a moment, but must have been minutes, she pulled away._

_"Goodbye." She said, picking up one trunk and floating the others in the air with her wand. _

_"No!" I pulled her face towards mine, forcing her into a kiss, my lips searching for answers, for an acknowledgement that she wanted to stay, that she wanted to work things out. She slapped me._

_"Goodbye." She slammed the door. _

_ After that, all I did was drink and drink until I woke up in St. Mungo's with Dean Thomas looking over me, worried._

_"She left." I croaked. "She left."_

_"I know, mate." He sighed, looking miserable for me._

After I got out of St. Mungo's, I stayed at Dean's for a while, with his fiancée and baby girl. He sensed I felt uncomfortable around Sally and Scarlett, having just lost my own wife and daughter. He tried to keep me happy but I could tell I was a burden to them, so I just left. I'm vaguely in touch with them now, but I'm not as close to Dean as I used to be. He understands though – he got that I couldn't be around a happy family when I'd lost my own. His Scarlett's fourteen now, and he has two others as well – twins, Jessica and Rupert. It's exactly the family I would have wanted. Exactly the family I should have got. It could be worse though. I could be Lavender Brown with the torn up face and the constant isolation from the rest of existence. Well, that's a bit harsh. But true, sadly.

LAVENDER POV

I think I'll let him come to me. Yes, that'll be best. I can't just storm up to his door and demand details or even knock; he'll think I'm being nosey. Although I was known at Hogwarts for being a gossip, I try to downplay that aspect of myself nowadays. Well, I say try. I still love the gossip sections of _Witch Weekly_. The celebrity talk still gets me marginally excited, even if it is my old school classmates half the time.

How did it get to this though? Shutting myself away from the world. Even if the scar doesn't physically hurt me, the looks people give me over it… it's like being stabbed in my eyes with needles repeatedly. Still, I shouldn't dwell on it. I mean, that's all I've been doing for the past twenty years, it's nice to give myself a break once in a while.

Unsure of what to do, I do what every other adult in England does. Have a drink. And another. And another. Till everything's hunky-dory and my mouth tastes like a combination of peaches and ash. Drinking alone in my apartment watching muggle television. My life could not be any more boring.

I wake up the next day, not exactly visibly hung-over but not feeling the greatest either. I struggle out of bed at nine and dress slowly, my steps groggy and disorientated slightly. I don't have to be in at work till eleven – one of the perks of owning a successful business is that you can have a lie in while some poor employee opens up shop at half seven. Casting a hair cleaning spell on myself, I brush it slowly, letting the light waves of it shower my shoulders and back. I moisturise my face and dash on some makeup. I then plod to the kitchen, and open the fridge, stifling a yawn.

"G'day," comes a voice from the corner. I shriek and slop milk down myself, spinning around, to find Seamus sitting in one of the dusky wooden seats next to my little table.

"What the –" I gasp. "How did you get in?! I- I"

"Simple alohomora" He shrugged. "Honestly, Lavender, you need to get some better locks than this."

"My locks are fine." I say through gritted teeth. "They are charms merely to warn off those who mean harm." Upon saying this, I realise that by breaking in through those charms, he obviously has well intent. Still, I can't not reprimand him for just wandering in. He shrugged.

"I just wanted to say sorry," he said "for being a tool and walking out on you last night. Truce?" I sigh.

"You had a right to walk out. You were upset."

"I've been upset for the past fifteen years. I need to let it go and stop letting it all control me, holding me back from things." He looked uncomfortable. I smiled wanly.

"It's still okay."

"No, it's not. I'm still sorry, Lav."

"You need to stop calling me Lav, you make me sound like a toilet." There was a slight pause.

"That's because you are a toilet." He grinned. I couldn't help laughing, half exasperated, half amused.

"I knew that was coming! God Seamus, you're an elderly man now, you shouldn't be cracking those immature jokes!" He grin just got all the more wider.

"Still," He said sombrely, "I am sorry. Look, I'll make breakfast." With a flick of his wand, he opened the fridge… and out poured all the contents. I just looked at him, and he grinned meekly. Typical.


End file.
